The bolt-hole
by kellyab181
Summary: Set after 'His Last Vow.' Molly is surprised to find Sherlock at her door in the early hours at the morning; he needs a bolt-hole. Is he really there because he's in danger...or is Sherlock finally giving into his feelings?
1. Chapter 1

'What the bloody hell is that noise?' Molly Hooper vaguely heard someone say near by.

'Molly, for goodness sake, will you wake up?'

Something was shaking her shoulder…

'What is it?' She replied drowsily, turning over in the bed to see one very irate boyfriend despite the darkness.

'The bloody doorbell won't stop going, can't you hear it?'

Molly leant up on her elbows and looked at her bedside clock. It read 3.30am. The doorbell _was_ ringing – in fact it sounded like someone had glued their finger to the buzzer.

'How long has it being going?' Molly rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the sleep.

'About ten dam minutes. Just how deep of a sleeper can someone be?'

'Pretty deep actually. There are studies-'

'Not _now_ Molly. Will you get the dam door please.'

She was a little taken aback by his attitude but Molly chose to bite her lip and slip out from the covers.

'What if it's someone dangerous?' Molly paused as she slipped on her dressing gown.

'It's probably them troublesome teenagers I saw next-door Molly that's all. Call the police or _something_,' he groaned rubbing his face with his hands and collapsing back down onto the bed.

Molly sighed, crept out of the door and down the stairs, before pausing at the bottom. Tip-toeing towards the front door, a dark tall shadow became apparent beyond the pane of glass.

The doorbell then stopped.

'Thank bloody hell for that!' Tom shouted from upstairs.

'The door, Molly Hooper. I would be much obliged,' came a muffled voice from behind the door.

Molly felt her heart shoot up through her body – a familiar feeling and one that she would have liked to have grown out of by now.

She immediately unlocked the door and there he was – dressed as always, in his long black coat, his hair dishevelled – but not too much so – his smile small but significant.

'Sherlock?'

He cocked his head slightly. 'I believe that is my name yes. Do you mind?' He gestured forwards, not waiting for an invite, instead slipping past Molly and straight into the hallway.

Molly shut the door and stared back at Sherlock, barely visible in the dark.

'It's half three in the morning,' Molly stated, trying her upmost to sound annoyed but altogether not succeeding.

'Yes,' Sherlock sighed; in the way he always does - annoyed at how slow mere mortals brains are in comparison to his own. 'I assure you there is good reason for my presence,' he twisted around in the direction of the kitchen.

'And what's that?' Molly asked, following him into the kitchen.

Sherlock switched on the light and swung back comfortably into one of the kitchen chairs. Molly was practically bubbling inside with nerves and excitement. This was Sherlock. In _her _kitchen. Surely she had a dream like this once…?

'Molly? Do you wish to offer me a cup of tea or do you wish to continue standing there, dishevelled, shivering and looking altogether rather…' His voice trailed off, his hand left hanging in the air as he looked her up and down.

Molly could feel her whole body turning red, let alone her face.

'Sleepy,' Sherlock finished rather lamely. 'Soooo…tea?' He asked again, his usual straight forward persona returning as quickly as it came.

'Tea. Yes, of course,' Molly nodded as she made for the kettle. 'But first, can you tell me exactly _why_ you are at my house in the middle of the night?'

'Well that is obvious surely. Your deduction skills are quite profound when they want to be.'

'Was that a compliment?' Molly laughed lightly.

'That entirely depends upon your deduction,' Sherlock abruptly stood up and placed his hands upon the kitchen table, his eyes focused on Molly's face across the room.

'Errr…well' Molly stammered, her brain trying to function, but failing as per usual as in Sherlock's presence. 'Are you being followed? Mr Jameson perhaps? Isn't he involved in your latest case?'

'No. Try again,' Sherlock closed his eyes, his fingers to his temples, looking and sounding, altogether frustrated.

'I don't know Sherlock,' Molly sighed, feeling her desires for him diminishing. 'Why don't you tell me? I'm not exactly at my best at this time in the morning.'

'Time is no excuse Miss Hooper. Time waits for no man…' He paused, his face softening. 'Apologies. I didn't mean to be…what is the right word?' He frowned.

'Rude?' Molly offered. 'Obnoxious? Thoughtless-'

'Yes yes, that is quite enough describing words,' he smiled slightly, sending Molly's heart into another quick round of palpitations.

She coughed awkwardly and turned back towards the kettle. 'So you are here because…'

'It is an issue of great prudence and importance. My brain cannot _think_ properly because of it.' He began rubbing his temples again in frustration.

'Well I said you could come here if you needed somewhere I guess…'

'No need to guess Molly. You remember perfectly that we agreed…'

He stopped again, seeing Molly's shoulders slump and her head go up to the heavens.

'Sorry. Again.'

Molly finished filling up the kettle, switched it on and tried to reach up to the tea caddy 'It's what your like. I should be used to it by now,' she replied, straining to get to the top shelf.

'Need a hand?' Came Sherlock's voice from behind her, making her jump.

'Howdoyoudothat?' She asked in a rush of words.

'What my hair?' He asked innocently, ruffling his hair with one hand, his other reaching over her to the shelf. 'I'm told I have excellent keratin levels. It's naturally quite perfect.'

Molly would have laughed if she weren't so incapacitated by his closeness. She could have sworn he almost sounded _flirty_. But no, he didn't flirt, and certainly not with her.

'I meant, how do you appear out of no-where? Oh, thanks,' she added, taking the tea caddy.

'Appearing out of 'no-where' is not possible Molly Hooper. I am here purely because I want to be.'

His words caught Molly off guard once again and her mouth fell open. She chose to ignore her brain and the many reasons why he could be acting in such a manner; he is teasing me, it's part of some case he is working on, it's an experiment…

'Catching flies?' He interrupted her thoughts, placing his finger gently under her chin and lifting it upwards.

It must have been because of Molly's look of utter bewilderment that his repose suddenly returned, eyes searching around the room frantically as if looking for another subject of interest. 'How is Tom?'

The fog in Molly's head evaporated immediately. 'Eh, I don't know, we broke off the engagement remember?' She said quietly, fumbling with the tea caddy and managing to fish out a couple of tea bags with trembling hands.

'Molly.' He simply said, waiting for her to look at him. 'You know me and I know everything.'

'Modest as always,' she laughed nervously.

There was silence as the kettle whistled to a crescendo. The switch clicked off and Molly quickly busied herself with pouring the water into mugs.

'I suppose the ring was a giveaway,' she sighed, twiddling with it on her finger, as she watched the tea slowly steep into the hot water.

It still felt like a foreign object on her hand; heavy and unwelcome.

'But you probably knew that before I had even opened the door. Out of interest, how did you know? I know you must be dying to tell me,' she half-laughed over her shoulder.

'Why?'

His voice sounded dark, much darker than usual, and it forced Molly to face him properly.

'Because I want to know. I'm always interested in how you figure things out,' she frowned.

What a strange question for him to ask, she wondered – Sherlock always wanted to explain his deductions. Indeed, he usually needed no prompting at all.

'Why has the engagement been so suddenly reinstated?'

'Oh,' she blinked. 'You mean why are we back together?'

'Indeed,' he responded.

Molly thought for a second that his face actually resembled genuine concern.

'Because we love each other,' Molly said generically.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and took a stride back towards her, where he smoothly opened a draw and took out a teaspoon.

'No you don't.' He said matter-of-factly, holding the spoon in front of her and nodding towards the mugs. 'It will in pair the flavour if they are left in there too long.'

Molly bit her lip, something like fury bubbling up from within her. 'We _do_ love one another. There are some things that you can not tell from…from…looking at someone's fingernails!'

'He leaves the tea caddy on the top shelf, where you, the owner and primary resident of the building, cannot reach it, and you expect me to believe that you love him?'

She snatched the spoon from his hand and angrily took out the tea bags, throwing them slap dash into the sink.

'This is all a game to you.' Her voice was barely a whisper.

After what seemed like an infinite passage of silence, Sherlock opened one of the lower cupboards, which hid Molly's fridge. It equally infuriated and impressed Molly that he knew exactly where to look.

He took the milk and added precisely two dashes of milk into a mug, sliding it over to Molly on the counter; of course he would know exactly how she took her tea.

'Please forget my imprudence,' he apologised, adding a small dash of milk to the other mug and replacing the milk back in the fridge.

'You can't know everything,' Molly replied half-heartedly. In truth, she knew that he can know everything and he sees through _her_ like glass.

'Of course not,' Sherlock agreed, taking his tea and himself, back over to the table. 'I am just…'

'Just what?' Molly sighed, grasping her tea and turning back around to face him.

'Concerned for you. That is all.'

'A...h…oh,' Molly stuttered, her rage seeming to evaporate immediately. 'You weren't just…trying to prove a point?'

'What point? That I am incredibly insightful and exceptionally attuned to human nature? Well that as well.' His smiled slyly. 'But of course, I have been known to falter in that department,' he shrugged, 'on the rare occasion.'

'Rare occasion?' She lifted her eyebrows, a small smile creeping onto her face despite her best efforts.

Truth be told, Molly was quite overcome with happiness; he rarely implied that she meant anything to him (strictly platonic, of course, and very unfortunately so for Molly).

But then it dawned on her… Sherlock only really acted like this when something was _really_ wrong. Like when he had needed her to help him fake his own death.


	2. Chapter 2

'Sherlock. I suggested my home as a bolt-hole for you, which means there must be something you are trying to get away from. What is it?' She asked, taking a seat opposite him.

His eyes turned downwards into his tea.

'Something of great hindrance. Something only you and your bedroom can solve.'

'Sorry?' Molly squeaked, then coughed to cover up the shocking pitch of her voice.

'Your bedroom was the agreed safe place, yes?' He looked up over the rim of his cup as he took a sip.

His eyes showed no emotion, no realisation upon the effects of his words; Sherlock as always, blissfully unaware…

'Oh, yes,' Molly blinked. She had forgotten that specific part of the arrangement. Apparently only her bedroom would suffice (he had correctly guessed that her kitchen was small and her lounge too close to the busy street).

'Stop changing the subject,' she shook her head, 'what is it? Now your worrying me.'

'I never mean to worry you Molly,' he said earnestly, his hand suddenly reaching across the table to rest on her left hand.

If he was trying to distract her, he was doing a bloody good job of it, she thought.

'Stop trying to distract me,' she said out loud, reluctantly taking her hand back to cup her mug of tea. 'I know what your doing and it won't work. Tell me what's wrong.'

'Distract you?' He frowned. 'I am being honest as always Molly. With you I am always honest.'

'As honest as you were with Janine? I know your tactics,' she smiled, almost painfully. She had hoped he would have stopped playing these games with her by now.

'No games,' he answered, reading her mind. 'You are not Janine. You are Molly Hooper and I depend on you. I owe you my life.'

'So stop…stop' she nodded to her hand 'playing with me. Just tell me what's happening-'

'I wanted to touch you,' he said plainly and without thought.

Molly gasped at this. She couldn't help it. Sherlock's face looked practically aghast at what he had just said.

'I…what I meant to say…'

'You are not yourself,' Molly said. She didn't know what was happening but clearly he was not himself. Sherlock did not like her like _that_.

'No I confess I am not,' Sherlock replied weakly, rubbing his temples once again.

She knew it. He could never like her like that. He was _Sherlock_.

'Tell me now,' she said.

He took a deep breath and faced Molly.

'Two people have made my life a misery – it is because of them that I cannot work, sleep or think.'

'Who are they?' Molly pressed.

'John and Mary,' he shook his head in despair.

'What?' Molly asked in disbelief. 'John and Mary Watson?'

'Yes,' he sighed.

'You need my bedroom because of your _friends_?'

'You don't know what it is like Molly. A married, loved up couple, in _my_ house. It is stressful beyond belief. It is affecting my whole being.'

'God help us,' Molly muttered. 'I thought it was something serious.'

'This is very serious. Very serious indeed.'

'I should have guessed it was your emotions that were sending you loopy…'

'Molly?! Who are you talking to?' Came Tom's voice loudly from the top of the stairs.

Molly groaned. 'Sherlock it's time you went home.'

'Is he always that loud and impolite?' Sherlock frowned.

'Go _home_.'

'I couldn't possibly. Not now Tom is here to join the party.' He grinned like a cheshire cat. 'Anyway I have proposal to make.'

'What?' Molly shook her head, confused.

'What the hell is going on,' Tom appeared at the doorway, his face red and fuming, and aimed squarely at Molly. Once he saw the familiar figure of Sherlock however, the anger seeped from his face, transforming into one of awe and embarrassment.

'I'm so so sorry Mr Holmes. If I had known…'

'No need,' Sherlock held up his hand. 'I am merely here to ask you a favour.'

'Anything, anything, of course,' Tom nodded.

'I need to occupy your bedroom and I need the assistance of your fiancé. I know this may sound peculiar, but it is of _national_ importance.'

Molly could not believe her ears. Surely Tom was not going to believe…

'Of course. Please, please do go ahead.'

Molly looked at Tom, then Sherlock, then back again, in utter disbelief. What _was_ Sherlock doing?

'Anything I can do?' Tom insisted.

'Hmmm,' Sherlock pondered, his eyes looking up to the ceiling in thought. 'It is probably best if you left the building for half an hour. For your safety and ours. Would you forgive my impertinence?' Sherlock asked.

Molly couldn't believe his nerve. She could tell he didn't mean a word of it – this was Sherlock bravado. She had learnt to see the signs by now. But poor souls like Tom, who were blinded by the Sherlock aura, were non the wiser to his tell-tales.

'Yes, yes, I shall be out as quick as you like,' he smiled, backing out of the room and shooting back up the stairs; no doubt to put something more appropriate on than just boxer shorts.

'You can't just throw my fiancé out of my house,' Molly whispered under her breath.

'Yes. I can,' Sherlock answered plainly, swallowing the last of his tea. 'Now we can have some space alone.'

Molly's heart began to do gain speed. 'I thought you wanted time alone to yourself? What do you need me for?'

'What I always need you for.'

Their eyes met across the table and the moment felt so palpable and electric, that Molly felt everything else around her fade into significance.

'I told you to stop playing with me. I'm engaged and happy. This isn't funny.'

'Bedroom.' Sherlock's voice said plainly.

Molly just stared at him in disbelief.

'Molly!' Came Tom's voice as he ran down the stairs. 'Don't distract Mr Holmes will you? You can often talk such nonsense – not good when the nation is at stake!'

'Really?' Sherlock narrowed his eyes. 'You love _him_?'

'Apparently,' Molly replied weakly.

'See you later!' Tom shouted, the loud bang of the front door signalling his departure.

'Bedroom,' Sherlock repeated.

Molly swallowed. What was he playing at?


	3. Chapter 3

_(Thank you so much for your reviews and for following the story - I really appreciate it! I shall share the next chapter as soon as I can)_

'Shall we?' Sherlock asked casually, standing up from the chair and waving his hand in the direction of the kitchen door.

'Shall we what?' Molly laughed. 'Go to my bedroom where you can make a proposal to me?'

'Something along those lines, yes,' he replied in all seriousness.

Molly shook her head in disbelief. 'You never make much sense Sherlock, but this is taking it to a whole new level. Can you please tell me what is going on?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'I have told you clearly that I need time to _think_. Away from married couples and away from…' he waved his hand her direction, 'one's that are strange enough to be considering the act of matrimony themselves.'

Molly crossed her arms. 'So why do you need me here? If I am so _strange_ to be considering marriage?'

'Considering?' Sherlock echoed.

Molly blanched. 'I…I meant to be getting married. Slip of the tongue.'

Sherlock looked smugly pleased with himself.

'Stop changing the subject,' Molly protested. 'Why don't you go up to my bedroom if you so badly need it and I shall go collect my _fiance_', she emphasised clearly, 'and we will sleep in the lounge.'

'No,' Sherlock vehemently shook his head. 'I agreed this bolt-hole because I knew you would be here too. I need your brain,' he said, tapping his head repeatedly.

Molly sighed. 'So there is a case you need help on? Why didn't you just say.'

'It isn't a case…as such' he answered enigmatically as ever. 'But you are definitely required tonight.'

'Required,' she repeated, feeling a little crest fallen. 'Well, the way your acting tonight, it must be something important so lets see if I can help. Then I can get Tom back and you back off home.'

Molly stood up and went back towards the kettle.

'The bedroom Molly. No time for tea.'

'We can just talk down here,' she shrugged, 'there isn't any-'

Her voice broke off as she suddenly felt Sherlock's hands on her waist twisting her around.

'The bedroom Molly,' he demanded softly.

I'd be damned if I could think now let alone make a cup of tea, she thought.

'If you insist,' she coughed nervously, pulling reluctantly out of his hands. Why did he have to be all touchy feely all of a sudden? Now, when she has a fiancé, when he _knows_ it will make her feel uncomfortable.

'Let's get this done with,' she said walking towards the door.

'It won't be easy,' Sherlock's voice came from behind her.

'It never is with you', she muttered automatically, not noticing the meaning in Sherlock's words.

He followed her silently out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

'Out of all the paint colours in the world, Tom chose to paint your hallway pastel blue?' Sherlock asked as they approached the top of the stairs.

'I would ask how you know but-'

'The lingering smell, the broad strokes left of the skirting board, then there is the choice of colour-'

Molly silenced him with her hand in the entrance to the bedroom.

'How do you know I wouldn't like blue?'

'So you admit you don't like it,' he smiled, clasping his hands behind his back.

Dam.

'What I _meant_ to say, was how do you know it wasn't me who chose the colour? I'm quite…partial to blue,' she shrugged, trying to convince herself as much as Sherlock that she liked the colour.

In truth, it reminds her of the school toilets.

'I know the things you like Molly Hooper and pastel blue isn't one of them.'

Molly chose not to read too deeply into his words – Sherlock just knows about everyone by default.

Ignoring him, she went to switch on the bedroom light, but saw Tom had left it on; immediately she felt familiar niggles of annoyance spread through her. However many times she asks him politely to switch off the light behind him, he forgets it within the hour.

'How annoying,' Sherlock said, reading her mind. 'Does he find it difficult to remember where the light switch is located?'

'Not usually,' she said, 'but then again, he isn't usually forced out of his own house by psychotic men at 4am.'

He doesn't have to know he does it all the time, she thought.

'_Your_ house,' Sherlock said, ignored her comment, as his eyes continued to survey the room.

'My room is not a crime scene,' she complained, standing in the middle of the room with arms crossed. 'Not yet anyway…'

'I wouldn't kill Tom here if I were you. I'd chose a much more-'

'You Sherlock,' she raised her eyes to the ceiling. 'I meant you.'

Exaggerated shock passed his face. 'And I thought we were friends.'

'Stop hating on my fiancé and get to the point.'

'Ah yesss, the fiancé,' Sherlock muttered to himself, as if suddenly remembering something. 'The point exactly,' he looked up at Molly sadly.

'Sorry?' Molly asked, confused.

Sherlock smiled tightly. Molly did not like the look of this.

'Mind if I…sit?' He asked awkwardly while pointing to the bed.

'Eh…no go ahead. Shall I…?' She gestured as if to join him.

'No,' he said, sharply. 'I mean…the curtain first…can you open it?'

Molly frowned. 'The curtain? But the light is on.'

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed, his body now facing away from her. 'The light from the street lamp would be much more beneficial for my thinking,' he said quietly, waving his hands around his head.

'If you say so,' Molly sighed.

She padded over to the window and pulled back the curtain.

'Oh look,' she said pitifully, 'I can still see Tom standing outside on the pavement! It must be waiting for us to finish.' She turned back into the room. 'I'm going to go get him. We can work while he waits downstairs.'

'Molly.'

Something in his voice made Molly pause.

'You can…soon. But first, the other curtain please, if you may.'

Molly decided not to argue and she turned back to the window, pulling the other curtain back.

'Now can we-' She paused. 'Oh wait, a car is pulling up. I don't recognise it though…must be one his friends.'

'The colour of the car?' Sherlock asked from the darkness.

'Red,' she laughed, 'why do you want to know? I know your clever but surely you don't know all of Tom's friends.'

'I know only of one,' he replied flatly.

'Exactly, me of course. So why do you want to know the colour?'

'Not you Molly. You are not the friend.'

Molly saw the car door open and a tall brunette woman step out into the yellow light.

'It's…'

'A woman, with dark brown hair, who typically wears a long black trench coat and goes by the name of Lucy,' Sherlock replied.

Molly smiled nervously. 'I've never met Lucy before. Must be a friend from work-'

'No,' Sherlock sighed. 'You always think the best of people Molly Hooper and that is your greatest gift and of course that is why I lo-'

Molly gasped audibly, stopping Sherlock in his tracks – thank heavens, he thought, regaining his composure and remembering the situation.

'He's…kissing her...' Molly continues, her voice noticeably breaking. 'And not in such a…friendly way.'

'Molly…'

'You knew' Molly turned back around slowly. 'How long have you known?'

'A couple of days but I wanted to make sure,' came his quick response.

Molly felt hot tears run down her cheeks. She reluctantly looked back outside the window; they were still standing there, looked in an embrace, blissfully unaware.

Angrily, Molly swung open the window.

'You bloody bastard!' She shouted, pulling off her ring and hauling it as far as possible. 'You bloody, bloody bastard!'

'Well,' Sherlock said to himself, 'that is one way to go about it.'

Molly turned momentarily.

'I will get to you in a minute.'

Ah, Sherlock thought, maybe this wasn't _exactly_ the best idea after all…


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you again for all my lovely followers, reviews and messages! This will hopefully be the penultimate chapter - I hope you like it :)_

Tom was now running towards the house, presumably, Molly thought, to come and grovel to her from below; as it so happens, he began searching frantically on the ground.

'That cost me Molly, what the hell do you think you are doing?' he half whispered, half shouted.

Molly put her hands onto her cheeks in despair.

'Oh my…you are actually looking for the ring,' she turned back into the room. 'He is actually looking for the _ring_,' she repeated in disbelief.

Sherlock had stood up by this point, his concern for Molly growing steadily; he hadn't ever seen her so angry…well, except for that time with the slap…

'Perhaps if I asked him to leave?' Sherlock suggested.

'He doesn't even care that I just saw him, face glued, to another woman, and to _think_ I actually asked him to come back to me,' she continued.

Sherlock didn't know what to say. For once he rather stumped for words.

'I'm sorry,' he said, his voice vanishing into the air, useless and pitiful.

Molly ignored him and turned back to the window.

'Don't ever come back to my house,' she said without emotion, looking down at Tom. 'I never want to see you again.'

Tom rubbed his face. 'It wasn't meant to happen like this.'

'Wasn't it?' Molly shrugged her shoulders, her voice struggling to remain calm. 'Were you planning to have a party and announce it to all my family and friends?'

'Of course not,' he spat. 'I'm not stupid.'

'I incline to disagree,' came Sherlock's voice from behind her.

'Sherlock,' Molly warned.

'Sorry,' he apologised.

Molly took a deep breath. 'I don't want to see you here again.'

'Was it Mr Holmes? It must have been right?' He laughed. 'Of course he knew.'

'It doesn't matter who _knew_. What matters is that you…you-' she pointed in the direction of Lucy, who was standing there with the actual guts to look bored.

'It's only a fling,' he protested.

Molly laughed weakly.

'Please go,' she demanded.

'I need my stuff,' Tom moaned like a child.

Molly gripped the window sill, fighting the urge to go down there and punch him.

'Here, I believe this is everything,' Sherlock answered.

Molly stretched out of the window to see Sherlock was now standing on her porch…with a pair of red lace knickers out stretched in his hand.

Tom's face turned white.

'Such a cliché,' Sherlock mused, 'to find a pair of lace, red knickers stuffed down the back of a sofa as a result of panic when one hears their _fiancé_ has come home early from work. Then again,' he shrugged, 'your level of intelligence suggests it is not beneath you.'

He tossed them at Tom's feet. 'Lucy left via the back door and ran out the side gate did she not?'

'I thought you would have the decency to obey the men's code of conduct and at least _warn_ me she knew,' Tom seethed, tilting his head towards the window.

Sherlock nodded. 'Indeed, it seems perhaps this was not the best way to reveal your liaison. But, I will tell you something…'

Sherlock paused and took a small step towards him, before lowering his voice to such a low pitch that Molly could not hear a word. All she could see was the stiff nod of Tom's head and with that, he turned up the path and back towards Lucy.

Molly watched silently as they quickly got into the car and drove away into the night.

'Molly…'

She turned around to see Sherlock in the doorway.

'I'm sorry.'

'What for exactly?' She shrugged weakly. 'For the fact my fiancé is a cheating bastard? Or are you sorry because I'm such a naive fool? There could be the slightest chance your sorry for slapping this in my face in such a…horrible…horrible…'

Her voice broke and she looked down at the floor.

'I never meant to hurt you,' Sherlock answered, taking a small step into the room.

Molly held up her hand. 'Don't come any closer. This is not what friends do Sherlock. Do you hear me? This is _not_ what friends do.'

'You didn't love him Molly and I needed you to see that and feel it. Me telling you about his affair – you wouldn't have believed me, and Tom would have pulled you back into his trap. He has blinded you.'

'Oh really,' she laughed sarcastically. 'Well aren't you my saviour.'

'I did not intend for it to happen quite like this. I came tonight with the mere intention of seeking refuge…a bolt-hole like you and I had agreed previously.'

Molly looked up from the floor. 'How did you know?'

Sherlock, encouraged, took another tentative step forward. ' First I saw the…'

'Thong?' she offered.

'Is that what they call them?' Sherlock looked wide-eyed. 'Most uncomfortable looking if you ask me-'

'Sherlock,' Molly interrupted.

'Ah yes,' he continued, 'well I saw the…red piece of lace material escaping from behind the couch on the way to the kitchen. That was my first clue.'

Molly fidgeted with the pull on her dressing gown.

'They could have been mine.'

'Highly unlikely. Apart from the fact that the offending item was clearly placed in an attempt at concealment, you find lace irritating on your sensitive skin and it would have been _especially_ so if down…'

'Yes, yes,' Molly interrupted, waving her hand in the air. 'I get the picture. But why didn't you just show me them?'

'He has a sister, friends that stay over regularly. He could have covered it up easily. And you, always so understanding and willing to see the best of people…'

Molly nodded for him to continue.

'So,' Sherlock continued, taking another small step towards her, 'there was then the matter of his phone.'

'I never saw you with his phone.'

'You were filling the kettle at the time. It was on the table and all too simple not to resist. It only took me a few seconds to file through his text messages and calls, thus making a conclusion that yes, in fact, Tom was having an affair with a woman named Lucy.'

'But…you knew the colour of her car?'

Sherlock smiled. 'Bright and alert as always, and to answer your question, it was in one of her messages; she had described her car so that he might find her parked at the Royal Doleway Hotel.'

Molly pulled at a thread on her gown. 'He only took me to the Holiday Inn, the cheap bastard,' she muttered.

'Indeed,' Sherlock agreed. 'So now you see how I knew. I'm sorry it happened this way and that his infidelity has caused you such visible pain-'

'It's not that,' she interrupted. 'He hasn't caused me pain. In fact,' she breathed, 'I hate to admit it…but I don't feel anything for him. You were right in that respect…I was blinded.' She paused. 'But then again, my options have always been somewhat limited and I thought he was my best chance at…well…' she drifted off, to glance at her left hand, now with no ring upon it.

'The ring. It was no more than £25 at best-'

Molly stopped him with one look.

'Not the right moment? No,' he agreed. 'But I think it may be the right moment for another discussion.'

'I'm not in the mood Sherlock,' she sighed. 'I'm still angry at you for playing with me all evening.'

The words struck Sherlock like daggers.

'I wasn't playing I assure…'

'The teasing? The oh so innocent remarks about wanting to _touch_ _me?_' She laughed. 'It wasn't fair Sherlock; pretending to flirt with me. You know I find, I mean _found_, it difficult to get over you. Using that to make me see the truth behind my relationship wasn't right.'

'Pretend?'

'Yes,' Molly rolled her eyes in frustration. 'Don't act like you don't know what I'm taking about.'

'I do not actually,' Sherlock answered, something in his voice forcing Molly to look at him the eye.

Molly shook her head. 'I don't understand.'

'I see why you would, I am not exactly the simplest of human beings, or so I have been told.'

'Understatement of the year,' Molly mumbled to the ceiling.

Sherlock waited for her eyes to reach him again before he took a deep breath.

'I may have came here with the intention of seeking refuge and this intention may have altered when I first caught sight of that sofa, but what I haven't told you is that my intentions had already changed before that very moment; upon my journey here, at exactly five seconds before I arrived at Swiss Cottage tube station; I Sherlock Holmes, had an epiphany.'

He dared to take another small step closer; their eyes now searching one another for answers that only the other could provide.

'And so it is time to tell you, Molly Hooper, the person who matters most, what exactly I meant by a proposal.'


	5. Chapter 5

_Final chapter - thank you and thank you again, for all the reviews, messages and following - I read it all and it has helped me write massively. I hope you enjoy and it isn't a massive disappointment! xxx_

'A…proposal?'

'Yes,' he smiled.

'Your freaking me out again.'

'Why?' he frowned, 'because I'm smiling.'

'Partly,' she admitted. 'I thought you were joking earlier with all…this' she gestured with her hand, 'but you sound…serious.'

'I am serious,' he said, lowering his voice, his eyes looking down, then tracing by up her body. 'I was serious. About everything.'

Molly felt her whole body turn to jelly.

'I know it's hard to trust me Molly. I am not exactly the most reliable of people.'

'You are reliable,' she interrupted. 'Just…this is so unlike you. You actually sound emotional.'

'I know,' his eyes widened, 'strange isn't it?'

'Just a bit,' she smiled. 'So…those things you said in the kitchen, I wasn't imagining them? Were you…'

'Flirting?' He answered. 'I believe so. Strange how one cannot control their emotions isn't it? I never thought…'

'Focus Sherlock.'

He bent his head to the side. 'How odd.'

'What?'

'You said that to me that night. The night I was shot by Mary.'

Molly frowned. 'I don't remember saying that at the hospital; only that I was telling you to bloody wake up because you couldn't all leave us like that.'

'Your concern was truly heart warming,' Sherlock said sarcastically.

Molly shrugged her shoulders. 'You don't respond to niceties – I thought a good shouting would get you out of the coma.'

'And you would be right,' he smiled warmly. 'Because you know me so well - even in my mind palace.'

Molly looked at him confused.

Sherlock began to pace the room. 'After I was shot,' he began, 'my brain went into overdrive; I needed to think it through sensibly. So naturally…'

'You went to your mind palace.'

'Exactly,' he nodded, 'and the first person I saw…was you.'

Molly watched as Sherlock continued to pace the room, his hand on his chin, deep in reflection.

'Me?' She asked.

'Yes,' he looked at her. 'You saved my life.'

She shook her head. 'It was all you Sherlock. I was just a physical presence for your thoughts.'

'No,' he said adamantly, his pace slowing until he stopped in front of her. 'It was you who told me to focus. Then I could breathe,' he closed his eyes, 'and think clearly. You told me exactly what to do.'

'I'm glad I was there to help' she responded unconvincingly.

Sherlock opened his eyes. 'You don't believe me?'

'Sherlock, do you think you owe me something because I saved your life? Is that why you're here and why you were flirting with me all night? Were you just being nice?'

His head drew back. 'That would not be nice, that would be deceitful and rude, and I would only do that if I wanted something from you…which I don't.'

'You used to,' she replied. 'Quite often.'

'Yes, I did,' he paused. 'But ironically it was you who changed me.'

Molly frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'Somehow I found myself…emotionally, through you.'

'You have learnt to flirt I suppose,' she smiled.

Sherlock's face lit up like a child. 'I did do rather well didn't I?'

'Modesty may need some work though. Timing as well Sherlock, I mean I had a fiancé not half an hour ago.'

'The timing,' he agreed, 'was not exactly fortuitous I agree, but it was my original intention when I came here to…what is it called? Open up?'

'Even though I was engaged?'

Sherlock took her hands in his and her face turned to look at him in equal shock and awe.

'I may not have known that he was having an affair but I knew you were not in love with him. I could not let you marry him.'

Molly felt her eyes fill up with tears against her will.

'No…I wasn't. I've been so stupid and so…confused! Especially with you coming back…'

She looked down at her hands clasped between his.

'You are have never been stupid Molly.'

His left hand went up to to her face, placing a finger under her chin until he looked at her.

'_You_ are never stupid; me, on the other hand…well that was my epiphany.'

Molly felt her heart beat faster in her chest.

'Am I dreaming? Sherlock Holmes admitting that he is stupid?'

Molly smiled, forcing a tear falling to fall down her cheek, which Sherlock deftly brushed away with his thumb. Molly felt herself closing her eyes, cherishing this moment; a moment she had never thought possible, even in her heaviest of dreams.

'I realised that I was not only coming to your house for refuse, but also to see you; for that utter, plain and simple fact.'

Molly opened her eyes to see Sherlock was looking at her transfixed, his hand now placed on her cheek.

'I know I've hurt you Molly, on more than one occasion, and I know it took me a long while to treat you as you truly deserve…but I know now that you are more than a friend to me. I cannot deny it and I cannot see reason or logic why I should. You make me almost…normal.'

'Normal?' She raised her eyebrows.

Sherlock looked to the ceiling in thought. 'Alright, perhaps I'll never be normal, but you bring me as close to it as I could possible get.'

'You'll never be perfect and that's why I like you.'

Sherlock saw and felt how genuine she was and suddenly felt guilt creep upon him.

'There are some bad things I have done Molly,' he admitted, 'dark things. Things I do not wish to burden you with but know I should tell you-'

Molly closed her eyes and shook her head for him to stop.

'I've no doubt that you have. I also have no doubt that whatever you may have done in the past it was for the greater good.'

Sherlock's voice dropped. 'You believe that?'

'I always have…even when you've been so stupid that I've been forced to slap you.'

'I never did tell you how hard that hurt…'

'You deserved it,' she said, eyes narrowed.

'Hmm, yes, I suppose I did.'

'You can tell me in time,' she smiled. 'But for now…'

He gently stroked her hair back and she shivered.

'Cold?' He frowned, looking frantically around for something to help.

Molly smiled shyly. 'I'm not cold Sherlock.'

'Oh,' he blinked. 'What was that?'

'You have that effect on me.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Peculiar…but I rather like it.'

Molly stalled for a moment, hesitation passing over her face.

'What is it?' He asked, eyes searching in the only way Sherlock can. 'Is it Tom?'

'How you do that I've no idea,' she asked in wonder. 'You know me better than I know myself.'

Sherlock stroked her hair again, passing his hand comfortingly down her neck and down her arm. She could feel the warmth even through her dressing gown.

'Your worried because you…'

'Were engaged not an hour ago?' She offered, 'yes, but you do make that difficult to forget, especially when you touch me like that.'

'Apologies,' he said, taking his hand off her arm.

Molly felt a sense of loss immediately and took his hand brazenly.

'I don't owe him anything,' she breathed. 'Do I?'

'Certainly not,' Sherlock agreed, rubbing circles on the back of her hand.

'What did you say to him to get him to leave by the way? I couldn't hear.'

Sherlock leant a little closer.

'I know people and he knows it. A few small threats won't do him any harm.'

Molly frowned. 'He won't get hurt will he?'

'Well…a few broken ribs should do the trick.'

'Sherlock!'

He rested his hand back into her hair and smiled.

'No. Nothing will happen to him. Wounded pride and being without you will be worthy penance.'

Molly closed her and eyes and realised he was right; it was her time now.

'So that proposal of yours…'

'I'll get to that, but first there's something else I need to do that requires, well, my immediate attention…'

Without having the time to catch her breath, his hands were suddenly either side of her face, fingers entangled in her hair in one swift, smooth motion his mouth found hers.

He was gentle at first, almost searching, and Molly could already feel her legs giving way from beneath her; as if he could sense it, one hand came to her waist to hold her against him.

But she found that the shock soon gave way to natural instinct and Molly found her hands reaching for his head too; they fell into such a deep kiss, that when he gently pulled away, neither of them knew how long they had been there.

His hands remained on her waist as Molly moved her arms downwards to rest on his shoulders.

'You Molly Hooper, are one new revelation after another.'

'You can just call me Molly you know,' she said distractedly.

'Am I supposed to give you a pet name now?' He asked with a slight grimace.

'Molly will do for now,' she smiled.

'Thank heavens for that,' he breathed. 'So now I've prepared you well enough for that proposal I believe.'

'_That_ was the preparation. What can you possibly propose now?'

'It was rather good wasn't it?' He grinned.

'Just a bit,' she said sarcastically.

Sherlock pulled a little closer and naturally, Molly let him, letting her hands push softly into his hair.

He closed his eyes momentarily.

'It won't always be easy for me,' he admitted.

'I know,' she whispered. 'But I always said I'd be there for you.'

Sherlock held her closer. 'You always have. It's about time I repay the favour.'

'You already have' she sighed happily.

'Not by half,' he disagreed. 'But I intend to start by proposing…dinner.'

Molly grinned. 'Are you asking me out?'

He shrugged. 'Least I can do after I just stole your virtue.'

She laughed, and looked up at Sherlock, just as the first early morning light crept through the curtains.

'How about breakfast?' She suggested.

He smiled, before slowing reaching down to kiss her softly; brief but meaningful.

'I know a nice little café-'

'Oh no. I meant here. There's some bacon in the fridge, and seeing as you know the way around my kitchen…' she reminded him.

He narrowed his eyes teasingly. 'I see who is in charge now.'

'Your fault for waking me up at such an hour,' she said, pulling his hand towards the door, before pausing at the stairs. 'And just to clarify…John and Mary? That was still your originally reason for coming here?'

'I thought it was,' he frowned. 'But deep down my brain was making excuses for my…well, heart you could say.'

Molly squeezed his hand. 'Careful, you could be getting romantic.'

'Me?' He said wide-eyed. 'Heavens no. It was their romantic endeavours that found me here in the first place. I really must get rid of them.'

'Anddd the romance is gone,' she rolled her eyes.

'Ah, I see how that came out wrong,' he said, stroking her cheek once more. 'I told you I wouldn't be easy.'

'I'm betting on it,' she shook her head in amusement.

'Thank heavens for the bolt-hole I say,' Sherlock replied. 'Thank heavens for Molly Hooper and for the only woman who has really mattered.'

'That's better,' she smiled.

And with that, Molly led Sherlock down the stairs, to the kitchen, and to a life that which would never be normal, but hopefully, all the more…extraordinary.


End file.
